


When you say my name

by TheSpookyIntrovert



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Couch Cuddles, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Mulder loves Scully's voice, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:20:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29568102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpookyIntrovert/pseuds/TheSpookyIntrovert
Summary: He had never been Mulder until he became Scully’s Mulder.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	When you say my name

**Author's Note:**

> So this little thing is a response to a prompt (thank you, anon!), which was: Mulder loves listening to Scully's voice. As you guys will see, it kind of took on a life of its own, but I feel like I least tangentially fulfilled the prompt. 
> 
> _______
> 
> Spoondrift (n.) — a showery sprinkling of sea-water or fine spray swept from the tops of the waves.

Nature sang its own soft lullaby over sleepy Washington, the rain playing harmonies against the windows and the pavement down below. Inside the apartment, the fish tank gurgled its accompaniment to the watery soundtrack of the night, blue lights reaching out to touch the shadows with its elysian glow.

It was that faintly immaterial time of night that preceded the small hours, when the veil of reality seemed to stretch thin with possibility. It was Mulder’s favorite time of night, now that he could share it with Scully; she, warm and soft against him on the couch, nuzzling his neck and making sleepy noises in the back of her throat.

Mulder believed in a lot of unlikely things, but the statistical probability of falling in love with Scully had been the same as that of the sun rising tomorrow. 

“You cannot possibly know that, Mulder,” she protested in her whiskey midnight voice, releasing the words into his skin.

He shook his head, loving her very fiercely all of a sudden, and spoke into the silk of her hair. “I can and I do, Scully. A lot could have been different, a lot could have gone wrong… but if I met you a thousand times I’m sure I’d fall in love with you just as many.”

She looked up at him then, ocean eyes spilling into fluttering lashes, and pressed a soft kiss to his chin. “Is our love a universal invariant, Mulder?”

“We should make it into a law,” was his serious answer. She laughed then, silvery and damp, and he felt spoondrift on his shoulder.

Mulder could tell her that he never would have imagined how each facet of her would imprint itself so profoundly into his mind, effulgent as the shades of fire in her sun-kissed hair. He could tell her that in loving her he’d known her, from her warm autumn scent to the dripping honey of her voice saying his name.

He could tell Scully that her voice _made_ him — he was certain. Regardless of what he’d told her long ago when the intimacy inside a rental had grown stifling, he had never been Mulder until he became Scully’s Mulder. It was the warmth of her contralto that materialized the amorphous tragedy of him, and if she couldn’t change his substance she could at least touch him with his name. _Mulder,_ she’d mutter, and he’d exist in the space between each syllable.

So he told her, and she smiled, and sniffled, and said “Mulder” as sweetly as anyone had ever said anything, and Mulder briefly considered making an index of the many different ways in which Dana Scully could say his name.


End file.
